


Looking through the monster’s eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:24:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An elegant hand made its way to the glass and moved it with careful grace. A masterpiece died in an instant. A new one bloomed in its place, the mere act of relocation playing for the avid audience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking through the monster’s eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: no research/fact checking, this is my attempt at getting into Hannibal's head (to help me improve RP)

There are some places in the World that don’t just have an atmosphere but a character. They make us feel on a subconscious level, it could be a tingle at the back of the neck, a slight shakiness suddenly developing in our hand or even just a sense of foreboding. Places of this nature are by some described as magical, the less romantic masses shake their heads and shrug of the creepy  feeling and go on with their day. They pay no attention to the more refined details of the world they live in. Their lives are empty, devoid of colour and imagination.

Those were the kind of mediocre individuals that made for a passable dinner menu. The tiny, simple minds, perpetually preoccupied with the mundane. Lifetimes wasted living day to day without stopping to appreciate, praise and worship the hearts beating in their chests. Never taking a second to wonder at sound their blood makes flowing through their veins. Resorting, in their interactions, to the most basic defence, anger. Illogical and beastly as it was. Rude.

Sunlight reflected through the glass onto a desk beneath, covering the wooden surface with a mesmerizing dance. One moment in time, a tiny slice of life ready to pass and be gone forever. Missed by many certainly, dismissed by even more. Lambs. Artless animals bred for slaughter. Distasteful.

An elegant hand made its way to a wine glass and moved it with careful grace. A masterpiece died in an instant. A new one bloomed in its place, the mere act of relocation playing with light for the avid audience.

A sound filled the room, one quiet, long and measured intake of breath. A sigh of satisfaction. The red liquid shined on merrily as if aware of being found acceptable. Worthy.

Memories fighting for attention murdered the budding partnership. Immediately the wine glass was but a mere magician’s prop. The actual trick continued to elude him, playfully required chasing and effort before succumbing. A clear image at last.

Dark silhouette of a happy man, face depicting the ultimate amusement and joy. The possibility and promise of friendship. Eyes shining in the sunlight with surprise and gratitude. Mouth eagerly consuming both an offering and a lure. Trust.

Special playground laid bare before his feet. Being presented with an impossible choice. Twisting and tweaking to see how it works. Pulling it apart with burning curiosity. Unstoppable. Tearing through the pure in search of a beast hidden beyond his grasp. Close enough to taste and wonder and dream feverishly of perfect understanding.

Feeling primal lust to possess and control. Giving in. Surrender.

Betrayal.

Eyes full of comprehension and soul deep pain. Seeing a man break and rebuild in a second. A moment of priceless insignificance spiced with civility. No fear in a beating, blood pumping heart. Instant clarity. Perfection.

A whisper and a dream. One wish fulfilled. A lifetime friend and companion. No amount of vicious hatred could mask the reflection. And in those eyes he saw himself. Beautiful.

A greeting. Masterpiece.


End file.
